


live in the moment

by always_an_anxious_mess



Category: Minecraft - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Gore, Claustrophobia, First half is pretty dark ngl, Fluff, Hearing Voices, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mature because of Gore and Cursing, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, STRICTLY PLATONIC I STG, TommyInnit & Tubbo Friendship, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, Tubbo has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), but the second half is cute i promise!, they are friends your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_an_anxious_mess/pseuds/always_an_anxious_mess
Summary: There was bloodeverywhere.It was smeared on the walls, on the ground. It stained his clothes a dark reddish-brown color, completely soaking through them and making the fabric cling to his skin. It dripped from his hands, rolling between his fingers and coloring his palms bright red. It plastered his hair to his head, surely making his hair turn brown.There was a puddle of the rust colored liquid underneath him as he knelt on the ground.He had so many questions.(Or: Tommy has a nightmare and gets comforted by Tubbo)((PURELY PLATONIC PLEASE THEY ARE FRIENDS I STG))
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), strictly platonic - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 410





	live in the moment

**Author's Note:**

> **tw// gore, implied character death, claustrophobia, blood**

There was blood _everywhere_.

It was smeared on the walls, on the ground. It stained his clothes a dark reddish-brown color, completely soaking through them and making the fabric cling to his skin. It dripped from his hands, rolling between his fingers and coloring his palms bright red. It plastered his hair to his head, surely making his hair turn brown.

There was a puddle of the rust colored liquid underneath him as he knelt on the ground.

He had so many questions.

Why was he kneeling? Who’s blood was this? Why was there so much of it? Had someone died? Why couldn’t he remember what happened? Could the human body even hold this amount of blood? Was it his blood? Was he injured? Why couldn’t he feel any pain? WHERE WAS ALL OF THIS COMING FROM?

He stared at his hands, watching them tremble uncontrollably as the blood rolled off of them and drops of the liquid dripped lazily off the tips of his fingers.

Why? Why? WHY? WHY?

He lowered his hands, bracing them against the ground and inadvertently sinking them into the puddle of still-warm blood beneath him. It was warm? That means it’s fresh. Who was bleeding? Was it him? How?

He felt like he was going to be sick, but he forced himself up, into a standing position. His hands were once again dripping red. He couldn’t escape the color, no matter where he looked. Fuck, it was everywhere.

“You did this.”

He whirled, spinning in place in the empty room he was in, finding no one with him, as far as he could see anyway.

“You did this.”

“What did I do?” he asked hopelessly, his voice cracking in despair. “I don’t know what happened. Who’s blood is this? Is someone hurt?”

“YOU DID THIS.”

He flinched at the sudden increase in volume, stumbling backwards and tripping over something heavy and warm. He fell flat on his ass, legs strewn over the thing he tripped over as his head cracked against the floor.

It took him a moment to regain his bearings, forcing himself into a sitting position and moving his legs so they were on flat ground. He glanced at the thing that had tripped him, and his eyes widened in horror, the nausea from before returning full force.

A body. A body is what had tripped him. A body that had definitely _not_ been there before, because he _just_ looked around not even five seconds before he tripped and the room he was in had been completely empty.

The body was of a boy, who looked familiar but he could not place his name. The boy was laying on his back, unseeing dull blue eyes staring up at the ceiling with a neutral expression, likely softened in death. His hair was brown, flung out around his head in a morbid halo.

The torso of the boy had been torn open like an animal had gotten to him. His ribs had been snapped and were concave in his chest, organs misplaced and some half hanging out of his chest cavity. His intestines were flung about, but the most horrifying part was that the boy’s heart was still beating as if nothing was wrong. As if the boy was still breathing and his organs weren’t on display for the world to see.

The worst part was, he _knew_ this boy. Or at least, he felt as if he should know this boy. His face was incredibly familiar, but trying to put a name to his now-dead facial features made his head pound.

He tried to scoot away, only to find a section of the boy’s intestine had caught on his bare foot.

He screamed bloody murder, high pitched and hoarse, kicking away the organ and thrusting himself backwards as fast as he could, horror and a feeling of wrongness flooding through him.

“YOU DID THIS.”

“I didn’t!” He wailed. “I didn’t! I didn’t do it!”

“YOU DID THIS.”

His back hit the wall, much closer than he remembered it being. It wasn’t supposed to end for another few feet, but here it was, pressing up against his back solidly and real.

Then it started to move.

He could feel it inching inwards, pushing at his back and forcing him forward despite his desperation to get away.

He scrambled to his feet, glancing around the room in a panic. All four of the walls were moving, closing in and in. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do! Once the walls were close enough to feel suffocating, he braced a hand on either wall, breath increasing until he was practically hyperventilating.

He hated this. He hated this. He hated this. He hated this!

The boy had disappeared, but he hadn’t noticed, to wrought in the panic of the walls quite literally closing in on him to notice the fact that the body was gone.

He was straining to try and get the walls to stop, to desperately get them to stopmoving, to stop closing in on him. He hated small spaces, he _hated_ them.

The walls were unyielding, continuing to press inwards and closer to him. He readjusted himself, back against one wall and foot against the opposite, both of his arms bracing the other two.

His one remaining foot on the ground was slipping in the pool of blood beneath him, and he couldn’t get enough friction in order to keep his hands pushing correctly at the walls.

Fuck. Please no. Please. Fuck.

He was forced to fix his position as the walls continued to close in. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, his hyperventilating growing faster and faster and there just wasn’t enough air in the room to fill his lungs. The fact that the walls were pressing in on him now, one at his back, one at his torso, and one at either shoulder was not helping.

They were _still_ moving. Pressing in and in and in and in until he could hear his bones creak under the pressure.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a scream tearing itself out of his throat in a last ditch effort that someone, anyone would be able to hear him and save him. The walls were still pressing in, painfully so. Squeezing him and squeezing him and squeezing him until he was sure that his bones were going to snap in half from the pressure.

And then he was shaking.

Not shaking of his own volition, as he had been doing previously. It was as if someone had forcibly grabbed his shoulders and started thrashing him about, trying to get him to do something.

And then he opened his mouth and took a lungful of air.

And sat up.

Tommy jerked upwards with a startled cry, sucking in air greedily and coughing, feeling tears running down his cheeks and his whole body trembling something fierce. Foreign hands were clutched at his shoulders, and once he sat up, he was being pulled against someone’s chest.

It took Tommy a moment, trying to ease the adrenaline in his veins, to recognize the person who was holding him, but he frankly didn’t care either way.

Tubbo had his arms wrapped around him tightly, breathing shakily and tears dripping on top of Tommy’s head. One hand was pulling Tommy’s head into Tubbo’s chest, while the other wrapped around the blonde’s upper back. His grip was tight enough to be painful, but the taller boy didn’t mind.

Tommy’s arms came up and he pulled Tubbo tighter against him, hands finding fistfuls of the thick green sweater the older boy wore and gripping it just as tightly, trying to ground himself. His breathing was slowing, easing out of the hyperventilating state and into something calmer and more rhythmic. 

His eyes fluttered shut. The way his head was pulled against Tubbo’s chest, with his ear pressing against the brunette’s sternum, he could hear every beat of his heart. The thumping was fast, at first, but was gradually slowing down the longer they stayed like this.

After several moments, with both of them having calmed down, the silence was finally broken.

“I heard you screaming from my room,” Tubbo whispered, his voice still shaky and sounding like it was full of tears.

“I was screaming?” Tommy asked hoarsely.

“I thought you— I thought someone had snuck in and—” Tubbo cut himself off, getting too choked up to finish. It wasn’t a yes, but it was a clear indicator of the answer to Tommy’s question.

“I’m still here, big man,” Tommy reassured, one hand letting go of the fabric of Tubbo’s sweater in order to rub circles into the older boy’s back. “Still here. The ol’ thumper’s still going, I promise.”

Tubbo giggled quietly, his fingers kneading Tommy’s scalp in a way that instantly made the blonde sleepy and safe, something hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“I get them too, y’know, the nightmares,” Tubbo said after a few moments. “I don’t scream in my sleep, though.”

Tommy did know. He remembered the first few weeks after the first festival where he had to actually sleep in Tubbo’s bed because the boy’s nightmares were so horrific and he woke up sobbing more than once in one night. Never once did the brunette make any noise while asleep, only twitching and his face showing varied emotions. The tears and screams only came once he managed to free himself from the nightmare’s clutches.

Tommy had been like that once too. He remembered waking up silent yet crying after the duel, during Pogtopia, after Wilbur, during exile. He wasn’t sure what had changed from now since then.

Tommy let himself droop, fully relaxing into Tubbo’s hold and tugging on the boy’s sweater incessantly. He yanked on the material until he managed to finally get through to the brunette what he wanted, readjusting them both so they were now laying down.

Tubbo reached down and grabbed the covers, which Tommy had kicked off in his sleep at some point, draping them over the both of them. The brunette sighed, glancing at the blonde.

Stormy blue-gray eyes met sapphire blue, and they stared at each other for several moments. Each had something indecipherable to the other in their own eyes, but that was okay. They had each other, and that’s what mattered.

Tommy was the one who scooted forward and pressed his forehead against Tubbo’s, closing his eyes and letting out a shaky breath, forcing his shoulders to relax.

Tubbo’s own breath hitched, before a nose pressed up against Tommy’s as well. Tommy felt the tension in Tubbo’s shoulders release, and he felt a small smile force it’s way onto it’s face before he could stop it.

Tommy threw an arm over Tubbo, inevitably making the shorter boy scoot closer in to make the action more comfortable for the blonde.

There was something incredibly domestic about this scene, with Tubbo and Tommy curled up together on the same bed. It would’ve made the old Tommy, the one from L’manburg, groan and complain and only tolerate if absolutely necessary.

But war changes people, especially child soldiers. Tommy was not that young boy, who was influenced by his older brother’s inspirational words to fight in a war he had no place in being in. Tubbo had followed him, because they always stuck together.

Oh how Tommy regretted it now, if not for his sake, than for Tubbo’s.

But now was not the time to think of his mistakes, to think of how he had failed the one person who was most likely the only one who truly cared about him (even his father, the man who had raised him, had left him in the dust).

No, now was not the time to think of such things. Now was the time to stay in the present, in this moment, because in the end who knew how many times this would happen again? Best to enjoy it while it lasted, this brief moment of peace, because Tommy and Tubbo’s lives were nothing but peaceful.

So Tommy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, eyes drifting open momentarily to find Tubbo’s closed, already sound asleep judging by the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Tommy’s smile got just a tad bigger, and he let his eyelids fall shut again.

Living in the moment wasn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @Rose12610  
> Tumblr: @alwaysananxiousmess
> 
> It got a lot darker than I thought it would when writing this, ngl. Cute stuff at the end though!


End file.
